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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23718148">Stars of Frostfall</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Babble/pseuds/Babble'>Babble</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Drama, F/M, Great War, Pre-Canon, Romance, Tragedy, War, Young Love</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 22:00:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,716</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23718148</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Babble/pseuds/Babble</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In the time of the Great War, a young Ulfric Stormcloak and his fellow legionary Rikke find that love can prevail even amidst violence and bloodshed. But Rikke soon discovers that particular spark is more easily formed than kept, and the tides of destiny have little care for her or her beloved.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Rikke/Ulfric Stormcloak</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Cold Embrace</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>For Rikke, the time before winter seemed to belong to a different world entirely. She'd been a child, surely, or else a blind woman, ignorant of the depths of reality and the myriad of wonders that could be seen or touched or felt. Sensations she used to take for granted now felt like miracles created solely for her enjoyment: the sleepy quiet of the morning, after a night of heavy snow. The sweet scent of chopped wood as the quartermen went to work building fresh abatis and sharpening stakes. The stars appearing one by one in the evening, like old friends trickling into a tavern. Even the sharp odor of her sword oil, which had only weeks before wrinkled her nose, now brought a smile to Rikke's face at the memories it conjured.</p><p>If this was how love felt, Rikke cursed herself for taking twenty years to arrive at this point. So much time had already been wasted, worrying about minor concerns like what the other girls in Kynesgrove thought of her, or whether she would become a miner like her father. Even fighting the war now seemed secondary to spending every free moment she could find with her beloved. If the Empire prevailed, then they would return to Skyrim as celebrated heroes and find some other trouble to get themselves into. Maybe raise some whelps, someday, but the idea was distant and insubstantial and not of much interest to Rikke at the present. She was still so young, and he was a year younger still, and together they could fell an entire squad of Dominion soldiers and still have enough energy left to roll around in their tent until the night birds were singing. Children would only slow them down.</p><p>And if the elves won the day, then they would die side by side and go to Sovngarde gladly. Rikke had not feared death for years. Not since she'd watched the blood of a hundred wounds stain the snow beneath her mother's body and witnessed the life drain from the eyes of the one she loved most in this world. It seemed to Rikke that childhood was a set of stairs. Your mother carried you for the first steps, and eventually set you down and took your hand. One by one, year by year, she let go of your fingers and let you walk alone.</p><p>At the age of fifteen, holding her mother in her arms, Rikke felt as if she'd been pushed off a few steps from the top. She knew she would see her ma again someday, but the hollow certainty helped little in the small hours of the night when she was alone with nothing but her grief and memories. Sovngarde was a place of great honor and glory, but it wasn't the real world. She would never again feel her ma's warm skin against her own, never walk outside to see her rocking in her old chair. There was more to life to drinking and singing and fighting and dying. From what Rikke had seen of Skyrim in her two decades, not many of her kinsmen shared this enlightened opinion. It was naive to think Sovngarde would end up being different.</p><p>His mother had passed, as well, only days before the war began. They spoke of it, once, on a rare night where the Irregulars weren't expecting any fighting the next day and their contubernium had been given leave to relax their ready status. They'd found an empty clearing not far from the encampment, close enough to hear any watchman's horn. He still wore his armor, and in the darkness the dark blue cloth looked almost black against the gleaming steel. The others teased him, claiming he feared Thalmor assassins in the night.</p><p>"You're not an easy man to cuddle with," she complained, shivering at the cold press of his breastplate against her cheek.</p><p>"Arngeir once told me nothing worth doing should come easy."</p><p>"Brave words, from a man who has never had to share a bed with Ulfric Stormcloak." Rikke chewed the inside of her cheek, thoughtful. "Are you afraid of dying?"</p><p>He turned his head, his strawberry-blonde hair fanning out into the grass. "Are you?"</p><p>She punched his shoulder. "I asked first."</p><p>"I am...uncertain." Ulfric sighed. "Sometimes I feel I've not lived at all. For ten years I trained with the Greybeards, disconnected from the troubles of the world. Resigned to a life of solemn prayer and contemplation. Or perhaps resigned is not the right word... I was at peace with my fate. I did not wish to die, but I would not turn away from destiny if my time had come."</p><p>"And now?"</p><p>"Now everything is muddled. I never imagined I would draw a blade in combat. Spill the blood of another on to the snow." He reached out and traced her cheek with a callused finger. "Feel the warmth of a strong Nord woman. My entire perspective has shifted. I don't think I want to die. In truth, I don't know what I want at all any longer. Who knows where we will both be, when this war is finally over?"</p><p>"The Legion has treated us honorably." Rikke gripped his hand, felt the scars and the roughness. "There will always be a place for valiant Nords in their ranks. I think I'm going to remain a soldier, whatever happens. If that means I may end up dying to keep Skyrim safe from the Dominion, so be it."</p><p>He smiled and pulled her closer. "No doubt the elves are already shaking in their boots."</p><p>"Are you making fun of me, Ulfric Stormcloak?"</p><p>"By Talos, no. I know better than that by now."</p><p>Rikke saw something troubled in expression, past the amused grin. Ever since their first encounter at the recruitment camp outside Windhelm, Rikke had known Ulfric to be the brooding type. No doubt the death of his mother played into matters, but she had a feeling she was looking at a man who would always go through the world with a dark cloud over his head. Part of her new mission in life had become to banish Ulfric's demons whenever possible.</p><p>"What's wrong?"</p><p>"It's childish." Ulfric looked up at the sky, the stars of Frostfall reflecting in his eyes. "I just never thought my life would turn out this way. Arngeir always said the gods laugh at our mortal plans and devote their eternities to thwarting them."</p><p>Rikke bit her lip. "You are happy, though, are you not? Even with the war. You enjoy spending time with me."</p><p>Along with her mother's death, what haunted Rikke in her vulnerable moments was the fear that she loved Ulfric Stormcloak more than he loved her.</p><p>He turned his head, his brow furrowed. "My heart beats with yours, Rikke, when we lay together in the cold evening grass and when we kill together on the battlefield. I would have died in the first month if it wasn't for you. I love you."</p><p>"I love you, Ulfric." Rikke leaned forward, catching his lips with hers. He tasted of sweat and wild snowberries.</p><p>"Do you fear death?" He asked, when she pulled away.</p><p>"No." She started undoing the buckles on his stupid armor. "But I have a lot of life left to live before I walk the whalebone bridge. I hope you'll be with me until that day comes."</p><p>"By the Nine, I swear it."</p><p>Rikke let the promise cover her like a warm blanket and slid into his arms.</p>
<hr/><p>The war raged on. Season unending. Rikke hadn't understood the meaning of the phrase in her childhood, but now she was gaining an intimate familiarity. The names of days and even months soon lost meaning, blurring together against the constant onslaught of battle. The Cygnus Irregulars and Rikke's contubernium always seemed to be fighting, or marching somewhere to fight, or waiting around to fight. Crouching among trees, or kneeling in the dirt like common farmers, watching for a flash of golden skin or a glint of elven armor. At least during battle, Rikke was distracted from her thoughts. She couldn't even talk to Ulfric while they were waiting in ambush, lest she expose their position.</p><p>The worst part was, the Irregulars were a specialized unit, meant to be mobile and attack lightly where the enemy was most exposed. She couldn't imagine what the fighting on the front lines looked like. Thousands of her kinsmen must be dying every day. In the evenings she shared her worries with Ulfric, after the others had gone to sleep. He comforted her and offered his own</p><p>troubles, and together they tried to make the best of a conflict that seemed determined to be eternal. Ulfric had been right, that night in the field; neither of them were going to make it out of this war without help. Their love and the warm perspective it brought to her life had not faded with time, but seemed to grow in strength with each kiss or hug or kind word they exchanged.</p><p>This was true love, Rikke came to see. Not a brief affair of bestial lust and carnal passions, but a tender project that required equal commitment and devotion from each partner. Ulfric seemed as earnest as she was, barely sparing a glance towards the other women in the camp unless it was in friendship or camaraderie. His long isolation with the monks seemed to set him apart from other people. Even though half a year had passed, Ulfric still didn't seem entirely comfortable in a crowded tent, and even with her he seemed a Nord of few words. Perhaps that was simply his nature; if so, Rikke did not mind.</p><p>Galmar was the third pillar of their relationship, the anchor that kept them both from being swept away by hopelessness or despair or simple fatigue. Whenever Rikke ended the day with her armor weighing down her shoulders and dried blood smeared all over, whenever she felt that even Ulfric's love might not be enough to save her, Galmar was ready with a bottle of mead and a ridiculous tale to be shared loudly over their campfire. He never failed to make her laugh, and he brought out the best in Ulfric as well. With Rikke he was calm, compassionate, almost gentle at times: this was the Ulfric that his mother had loved, the fiery child the Greybeards had tempered into a young follower of their pacifistic ways.</p><p>But when Ulfric was with Galmar, Rikke saw the courageous Nord warrior the old monks had done their best to lock away. His laugh over the fire was like a war drum, and his sword in battle was a scythe cutting down fields of gold. She thought: <em>he could be a general. He could even be a king. </em>When all three of them fought together, they were nearly as unstoppable as the ancient Nord heroes of old. They could scour Cyrodiil of the Dominion, sail over to the Summerset Isles to finish the job, and be back in Skyrim in time for a nightcap. Rikke had never felt more alive.</p><p>The Nords thrived in Cyrodiil's winter, mild though it was, as much as anyone could be said to thrive during a war. Every chilly day and snow-covered path reminded Rikke of home, and if she stood completely still in one of their forest camps and looked away from the tents, it was easy to pretend she'd never left Kynesgrove.</p><p>"It's strange," Ulfric said one morning as they marched. "I've become so accustomed to snow. On the Throat of the World, winter never truly ends." It was the last day of Morning Star, and the snowfall had turned to slush and mud.</p><p>"These heartlanders don't know what they're missing." Galmar spat on the ground. "A warrior ain't worth his frost salts till he's felt true cold. Maybe that's why the elves are kicking their arses, eh? A land full of mages and milk-drinkers."</p><p>Rikke smiled nervously, glancing around to make sure none of the Imperials in their contubernium were within hearing range. Galmar was a solid man, but he took his loyalty to Skyrim a little too far sometimes.</p><p>"Maybe," Ulfric replied. "Sometimes I feel we don't belong here." He had become quieter as winter came to an end. The longer and warmer days seemed to be reinvigorating the other legionnaires, the Orcs and Imperials and Bretons. Even the Dark Elves seemed cheerier nowadays. For Rikke, the early heat just made Cyrodiil feel all the more strange and alien. She suspected Galmar and Ulfric shared her dwindling mood.</p><p>"Let's get this damn war over, then." Galmar walked ahead, his arms swinging like dwarven pistons. "Got an empty stool waitin' for me at Candlehearth Hall. Mead here tastes like goat's piss."</p><p>And so winter died suddenly, and the sun was bright and hot on the forests and foothills of southern Cyrodiil, and the war marched forward. And so too did the Nords. Faces turned stubbornly into the warm winds of Sun's Dawn and First Seed, finding strength in each other and their fellow soldiers. Countless legionnaires fell, and countless golden-armored elves of the Aldmeri Dominion. It was difficult to tell who was winning. She wasn't sure if it mattered anymore. The showers of Rain's Hand did not drown Rikke, and the sweltering embrace of Second Seed did not smother her. In her weak moments she would reach out her bloodstained hand and find Ulfric reaching out as well. Together they became a steel chain, hardened by frost and tempered by steady resolve. Together, they would endure the Great War.</p><p>Until one day Rikke reached out, and Ulfric was not there.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Discordant</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Soldiers went missing all the time, and sometimes their bodies were even found. After two days of searching, the Cygnus Irregulars were forced to move on. Their position was vulnerable, and one legionary was not worth sacrificing the entire garrison. The other soldiers in Rikke's contubernium offered to stay behind, and help her and Galmar search further. She refused, knowing what they would face when they returned to the Legion: charges of desertion, and summary execution. In the end she had to tie up Galmar to the back of their unit's mule to get him to leave with the rest. Rikke's sergeant told her she had a day before she'd be forced to report her as a deserter. By that time, she'd have little chance of catching up to the Irregulars anyway. Rikke nodded blankly. Such concerns as execution and desertion seemed to matter little now. Her entire world was slipping away.</p>
<p>She upended the forest looking for Ulfric Stormcloak, turning over every rock and kicking aside legions of brush and piles of leaves. He'd vanished during a minor skirmish on the outskirts of their war band. Two legionnaires had fallen, and five elves. The imprints of their bodies still remained on the wet groundcover, though their corpses were now buried or burned. There was no sign of the man she loved: no discarded sword or shield, no scrap of cloth or spray of blood. He'd simply disappeared without a trace, as surely and completely as the ancient Dwarven race. Rikke trudged on through the night, until her hands were shaking with fatigue and her face was wet with tears and a heavy certainty had lodged in her heart. If she didn't rejoin the Irregulars now, she would die in this warm forest so far from Skyrim. Rikke fell to her knees.</p>
<p>"I'm sorry, Ulfric." Her head fell under the weight of the stars above and the gods no doubt watching. "I failed you, my love. Talos forgive me."</p>
<p>Twelve hours later, Rikke crawled into her contubernium's tent and collapsed on to her bedroll.</p>
<hr/>
<p>It was grievous that the world and war should go on, so apathetic to Ulfric's fate. The battles continued, just as they had previously, and the Irregulars got more than their share of the fighting. Rikke poured herself into her career like never before. When she wasn't cutting down elves, she was practicing with her bow or sharpening her sword. Galmar took up drinking, but Rikke did not fall victim to that old pitfall. Her father had shown her what the indulgence of spirits could do to a strong warrior, and she had no interest in dying before her time. The other soldiers in Rikke's contubernium reached out to try to help her, but she brushed them aside and returned to her drills. Their platitudes and reassurances would not bring Ulfric back, nor would they fill the hole in her chest. At least if she'd been able to bury him, she might have thought of moving on. Instead, the ghost of Ulfric Stormcloak followed her across the wartorn land of Cyrodiil. She saw him in every golden-haired soldier, in every quiet moment of the evening. On every cool night where the stars shone like distant candles. <em>Are you looking upon the same stars, wherever you are? Or do you look down at me from Sovngarde?</em></p>
<p>The Cygnus Irregulars arrived at the Imperial City just in time to see the first wisps of smoke rise over the distant buildings. It was a bright day, free of clouds: the sunlight gleamed off the golden armor of thousands. The air smelled of cooking flesh. The garrison took up position on a high hill behind the city. Below them, the Eight Legion screamed and died, fighting a losing battle on the walls. Bodies fell and sank like stones in the water of Lake Rumare. There was nothing to do but watch and murmur prayers.</p>
<p>They circled around the city at the news the Emperor was fighting his way out, and met the Dominion's forces from the rear just as Titus Mede II charged from the bridge. It was a bloodbath. Screams filled the air, and the blood of men and elves soon soaked Rikke from head to toe. She lost her helmet once, found it, and then lost it permanently to the blow of an elven handaxe. Her contubernium was separated in the fighting, and one by one she watched them fall, killed by elves or trampled by their own fellow soldiers. <em>I'm coming, Ulfric, </em>Rikke thought again and again. <em>This will be the sum of a short but worthy life.</em></p>
<p>Impossibly, Rikke survived. The Emperor and his forces broke through, and the battered Irregulars joined him in a northern retreat. She was alone. The last she had seen of Galmar, he had been fighting three elves at once with blood streaming down his face. There had been no time to count their dead. She only hoped he had found peace in death. They were on their way to a rendezvous with General Jonna's army when they passed by a towering sentinel with a handful of bodies resting underneath. On a day like today, the sight of a few more corpses did not turn any heads. Rikke could not say why she strayed from the march and decided to look closer. She only thanked Talos that she had.</p>
<p>A wounded man leaned against the tree, his pale blond hair matted with blood. As she watched, he fell to his knees and crawled over to another form.</p>
<p>"Stubborn bastard," the wounded man growled, and Rikke's heart leapt.</p>
<p>"Galmar!" She ran to him, already reaching into her satchel for a potion battle.</p>
<p>He seemed to take a moment to recognize her, and then his eyes settled on the bottle. He grabbed it with a shaking hand and held it to the lips of the withered being on the ground next to him, that Rikke had mistaken for a corpse.</p>
<p>Rikke knelt down beside them, confused. "Who…?"</p>
<p>"It's our boy." Galmar's voice was as rough as gravel. He turned his head and spat blood. "The elves took him, but they couldn't kill him. That's our Ulfric."</p>
<p>Horror and elation filled Rikke in equal measure. She bent over Ulfric, not yet believing. This man was dreadfully thin, and countless scars covered his narrow chest. His hair and beard were consumed in filth, and grew wild to all sides. But the color, that strawberry gold...Rikke's hand trembled as she took a strand between her fingers.</p>
<p>Ulfric coughed, and his entire form shook. The potion was already having an effect. His eyes opened, wild and terrified, taking in Galmar and Rikke.</p>
<p>"It's me," Rikke told him, fighting to keep her voice steady. "You're safe now," she lied.</p>
<p>He looked at her, and for a second she saw the Ulfric she had known. His expression was an open wound, open and vulnerable.</p>
<p>"Rikke," he croaked, and she heard the untold pain and loneliness of months in the word. <em>They tortured him. </em>Then Ulfric's eyes looked past her, down the hills, to the city burning and dying behind them. His face closed off, and fury replaced sorrow. Galmar's Ulfric emerged, and he rose on shaky legs. The sky was clear and bright now, sickly empty of stars.</p>
<p>"Stop," Rikke said weakly. "It's too late, Ulfric."</p>
<p>He took a step towards the capital, not looking at them.</p>
<p>"They're sacking the city. The Emperor has fled!"</p>
<p>Ulfric stumbled, and Rikke moved to catch him. He steadied himself at the last second, and took another shuddering step away. Galmar just watched, his eyes glazed over.</p>
<p>"Stop, damn you!"</p>
<p>He wouldn't look back. Rikke went after him, angry tears streaming down her cheeks. She grabbed Ulfric's shoulder to hold him still. He tried to twist away, to no avail. A child could have offered more resistance.</p>
<p>"Let me go," he hissed, in a voice she had never known.</p>
<p>"You'll die."</p>
<p>"What does it matter?" Ulfric's gaze would not leave the Imperial City. The reflections of flames danced in his eyes. "This is my doing. I killed them all."</p>
<p>"Don't say such foolish things. Just...come with me. You need a healer."</p>
<p>Ulfric shook his head, but he was already falling into her arms. She lifted up his legs and cradled him like a babe. <em>By Talos...what have they done to my love?</em></p>
<hr/>
<p>The final year of the war seemed the longest. Rikke nursed Ulfric back to health, one day at a time, with Galmar's help. His body grew stronger, and the scars faded, but in her heart of hearts Rikke knew the man she loved had died in the clutches of the Thalmor. Sometimes Ulfric would wake up at night screaming, and she would rest his head in her lap and whisper comforting words until he could return to sleep. In those few moments of vulnerability, she could almost see him as the Ulfric he used to be. But during the day, when Ulfric was aware enough to keep his shields up, he kept that part of himself locked away. Even to her.</p>
<p>Galmar and Ulfric became closer, united by their hatred of the elves and their determination to win the war, even as she drifted farther away. Their methods and rationale for their actions strayed far from the honorable tenets of the Imperial Legion, but their commanding officers seemed not to care as long as the Dominion bodies piled up. Ulfric's world became one of fire and war, constant blood and battle. It was not a world where love could exist. Every time Rikke reached for him, he recoiled as if struck.</p>
<p>"What did they do to you?" She asked him once, during one of her weaker moments. "Please, Ulfric. I can help."</p>
<p>He just turned away. "No one can change what's happened, my love. Speak to me after this war is won."</p>
<p>It was something, at least. A promise of a time when they might reclaim some of what was lost. Rikke nodded grimly, though he could not see her. <em>Win the war. </em>To get Ulfric back, she was willing to put all of the Dominion's holdings to the flame. <em>Does that include, now, the Imperial City? </em>The rational part of her whispered.</p>
<p>Months of bloodshed and sweat later, and it was done. The Battle of Red Ring was a brilliant victory, cried the generals, while the lower ranks buried their dead. The Imperial City, blackened and half depleted of souls, belonged to the Empire again. Rikke and her contubernium watched Lord Naarifin hang from the White-Gold tower with solemn faces. She felt the ghosts of a dozen companions watching with her. Only one thought kept her going: <em>it's finally over. We can be together again.</em></p>
<p>She found Ulfric outside the city walls, standing before a bonfire. His shoulders were slumped in defeat. A scrap of parchment was gripped tightly in one of his hands.</p>
<p>"Ulfric," Rikke said brightly, approaching from behind. "The war is done with. Have you heard the news? The Emperor's treating with the elves as we speak."</p>
<p>Ulfric offered no reply. Now that she was closer, Rikke saw the suit of legionary armor burning in the flames. She gasped.</p>
<p>"Titus Mede," he spat the name like a curse. "Has betrayed us all. How many Nords died to win that craven bastard back his throne? Thousands and thousands. Now he sells the soul of the Empire and betrays the honor of Skyrim to the elves in return for their empty promises of peace and the destruction of Talos."</p>
<p>She shook her head, shocked, but Ulfric thrust the parchment towards her. Rikke took it and read silently.</p>
<p>"There has to be some explanation," she said. "I'm sure the Emperor has his reasons."</p>
<p>"I'm done listening to his lies and bowing to his whims. I'm done bleeding for an Empire that won't fight for us." Ulfric looked at her, and she saw no trace of the man she loved in his fiery gaze. "They sold Talos out for a few carriages of gold. No doubt the Jarls will all nod their heads and obey, like purchased cattle. This war is over, but there will be another."</p>
<p>"Of course there will," Rikke replied wearily. "No one's fool enough to think the Dominion has given up for good. But where you will be, Ulfric? You can't kill all the elves by yourself. Only the Legion can stand against their armies."</p>
<p>"I will be where I should have been all along. In Skyrim, fighting for the Nords."</p>
<p>"And what about me?" Rikke hated the weakness in her voice, but could not help it. "I love you. I always have, and I think I always will."</p>
<p>"You'll be by my side." Ulfric swallowed. "Won't you?"</p>
<p>"Ulfric. I'm a lieutenant now. I have soldiers to lead, innocent people to protect. It will take years to rebuild Cyrodiil and strengthen the Legion. We're going to need every legionary we have and more to win the next war. We're going to need soldiers like you."</p>
<p>"You really don't see it? The Legion died when Titus Mede signed that treaty and damned Skyrim. He's giving the Thalmor free reign to prosecute Talos worshippers. I don't understand how you could be so blind. "</p>
<p>She turned away and wiped the tears from her eyes before Ulfric could see them. "I suppose I'm just a fool, then. You think yourself brave for running away? You swore an oath, Ulfric!"</p>
<p>"The Empire I pledged myself to is rotting in its grave." Ulfric said gruffly. He had turned away, too. "There are battles to be fought in Skyrim. The Forsworn have spread over the west like a plague, while we've been away fighting the Emperor's battles. Galmar and I are leaving with some other Nords before nightfall. You are welcome to join us."</p>
<p>Rikke didn't respond. She stared into the flames, watching his armor hiss and blacken. Ulfric started to walk away.</p>
<p>"Can't we go back to the way things were?" Rikke asked, when he was nearly out of earshot.</p>
<p>The footsteps paused. "I love you, Rikke. I'm sorry. You're the strongest woman I've ever known. I know you can survive without me. Skyrim can not."</p>
<p>He started walking again, and Rikke couldn't think of anything to say to stop him. She fell to her knees before the fire, her heart weeping. She looked up at the cloudy sky and yearned for the night that would never come again, when she and her love laid beneath the shining stars of Frostfall.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Beta'd by the very helpful Syllis.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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